Page 108 of Undone

But even as that truth began to hit, another wave of doubt crept in. What if I was too late? What if I’d already fucked this up too badly?

I couldn’t push her away again. Not after everything. I needed to hear her voice, to tell her I was ready, that I wanted more, that I was done running from what we both needed.

I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking as I clicked her number, but it went straight to voicemail.

I looked out the window. The rain was coming down hard, the sound of it pounding against the glass—a reflection of the turmoil inside my head.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration clawing at me. This wasn’t how I wanted things to end. I needed to fix this, to let her know.

The knock on the door broke through my thoughts. My heart jumped.

I moved toward the door, every step heavy, my chest tight with anticipation. I pulled it open, and the sight of Noah standing there, soaked to the bone, took my breath away. Her tears glistened, shimmering in the dim porch light.

“Noah?” My voice cracked, unsure if it was the moment of relief or the final blow.

I stepped back, instinctively opening the door wider. She crossed the threshold as water pooled at her feet.

She was here.

And for the first time, I was ready to let her in.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

My chest squeezed as I took in her in. Her small frame was trembling.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Flat tire.”

“Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

I led her into the living room, where the soft glow of the lamps illuminated the space, pushing aside the conversation we needed to have.

I disappeared into another room to grab an extra set of my clothes. They’d be huge on her, but it was better than what she had on. I returned, handing them to her.

“Here.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, meeting my eyes. “For this”—she held up the clothes—“and for letting me in. I wasn’t sure if you’d tell me to leave.”

“You can always come here,” I replied, stepping closer.

“Can I though?”

“Of course,” I said, my own heart pounding so loudly in my head it made it hard to speak.

I opened my mouth to tell her how deeply I felt for her, but the truth was messy.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I finally whispered, feeling the helplessness creep in.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and I could see the change in her expression—a mixture of understanding and frustration.

“Me either,” she admitted.

“I tried to call you. Just a few minutes ago.”

“My phone is dead.”

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